


An Experimentation in Touch

by AnontheNullifier



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Chapter 2 Tags:, F/M, Fluff, Getting physical, Making Out, Mama Cho, More Fluff, More Making Out, Nudity, Scientific method is sexy, Sex, Steamy, Tasteful (?) Smut, bathtime, reassuring Wanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnontheNullifier/pseuds/AnontheNullifier
Summary: Vision and Wanda experiment with adding a physical component to their relationship.





	1. An Experiment in Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my attempt at contributing to the steamier side of the Scarlet Vision fandom. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Anya - I hope it lives up to some of your suggestions!

“Vision, you seem distracted.”   

The towel in his hand stops moving as he considers the words. “Why do you say that?”

 “Usually by now you have finished your list and completed half of mine. But you’re still on item three.” 

 Vision glances down at the beakers in the sink, mesmerized briefly by the way the suds break and then appear to reform, recolonizing over and over again. Then his face turns five degrees to the right to examine where he is on his to-do list and, just as she said, he has only completed two items despite being in the lab for over an hour. Odd. He had not noticed his thoughts wondering. “It appears that I am, my apologies Dr. Cho. I shall work faster.”

 As he refocuses on the task at hand, his fingers work the towel into the edges of the glass, scraping to ensure no chemicals are left over, lest his negligence leads to an explosive chemical reaction, or worse, a confound in her next study. Though she possesses no powers, other than her intellect, Dr. Cho is the only person who is able to regularly sneak up on him. “Hey.” His muscles constrict and his eyes blink rapidly. “Want to talk about it? Is it a girl? Is it a boy?”

Vision considers her question, curious at the uptick in her voice when inquiring about his romantic life. “It is about Miss Maximoff.”

“Ah! So there is a girl.” She taps her hands excitedly on the counter, the skin around her eyes crinkling as she grins at him. “So what's bothering you?”

Vision hesitates, hands absentmindedly swirling the water in the sink as he attempts to form his thoughts into coherent statements. “Miss Maximoff and I have been dating for several months now, but I worry that I may not be moving fast enough for her.”

At the word “enough” her stance moves from carefree and curious to defensive and ready to track Wanda down and have some strong words with her. Her voice is strained yet still neutral, hands gripping the counter as she stares at him, waiting for more .“Did she tell you that?”

“Oh, no,” his hands lift from the sink, held up in a way to reassure her that it is not as dire as he made it sound. “She has not mentioned it nor pushed for anything more from me, I just, based on various media that we have consumed, it seems that couples are supposed to be more physical by now.”

Dr. Cho nods at his words, brows furrowed in thought as she analyzes his problem. “Do you want to be more physical or do you just feel like you have to be?”

Which has been the cornerstone of his dilemma, the ability to separate out what he himself wants versus what he wants for Wanda versus what society says he should want and whether or not they are all one in the same. “I am not opposed to physicality.”

“Well,” the shrug of her shoulders implies the next statement should be obvious, “science is always the answer.”

“Pardon?”

Dr. Cho grins at him, resting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing it lightly. “Experiment. The only way to know what you like and what she likes is to systematically try different things.”

The words wash over him, bathing his thoughts in possibilities, his mind already reorganizing to include a new subsection on data collected and filed in the already existing folder labeled  _ Wanda _ . “How would you recommend going about it?”

“What’s the first thing you always have to do with human subjects?” 

“Garner informed consent.”

“Exactly.” She squeezes his shoulder one last time before pushing away from the table. “Talk to her, tell her your concerns and make a plan. Then, just follow the scientific method. Do we need to have The Talk as well?” 

If they had not already experimented and found him incapable of blushing, Vision feels as if his face would be turning redder right now due to the suggestive nature of her question. Which, as he considers his flustering embarrassment, is a surprising revelation. “I do not believe that is currently necessary, but I will likely seek out your scientific opinion if it gets to that point.”

“Of course, just please don't ask your dads for advice. Except Thor, he seems pretty romantic.” She smiles at him and he finds himself reciprocating it. This is why he, though he would be remiss to admit it out loud for fear of hurting others’ feelings, considers Dr. Cho his favorite ‘parent’. Her hands on his back shake him from his thoughts and he glances at her in confusion as she pushes him towards the door. “Vision, go and talk to her. I can finish up in here.”

 

Nervousness is relatively new to Vision, from the moment of his birth he has rarely questioned his actions nor considered that he should stay his opinion on matters. But there is something disarming about Wanda that stifles his voice when she smiles up at him, eyes wide and friendly. For the longest time he believed something to be faulty in his system, unable to comprehend why he could not function around her. But he has (had) improved, confidence returning as they spoke more and developed first a friendship and now a deeper connection. Which is why he does not understand the way his fingers keep tapping against his legs and his feet shift back and forth as he stares at the back of Wanda’s head where she reads on the couch. 

When she turns to look at him, Vision has to force himself not to phase through the floor. “Hey Vizh.” 

“Wanda, how are you today?”

The smile crossing her lips leads to a soft flutter in his chest, an issue he keeps forgetting to check on to make sure he is not suffering from some sort of heart arrhythmia. “I’m good, about halfway through the book now. I cannot believe how they keep messing up so much.”

“I informed you it was a comedy of errors.” Slowly he approaches the couch, sitting on the cushion next to her. “Are you enjoying it?”

Wanda leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder which encourages him to bring his arm up and around her upper body, a movement that has become quite natural over time. “It’s pretty funny, and the time travel actually makes sense, which I know you said you appreciate.” They have been reading together (well he reads much faster than her but his memory allows him to still debate the books once she is done) for seven months now, which he considers one of the biggest factors that led to the development of their relationship. “How are you doing?”

“I am good,” when Dr. Cho explained what he needed to do it sounded so simple, but now that he can feel Wanda against his body, his fingers running lightly over the cotton of her sweatshirt, he second guesses whether or not he risks losing this comfort. Then she looks up at him, lips parted into a grin and cheeks a subtle pink. “Though I wished to speak about something with you.” The grin falls as concern clouds her eyes and she sits up, pulling herself from his arm and the chill of where her body once lay is startling. 

“What’s up, Vizh?”

This is a mistake, or so his mind keeps screaming until her hand comes to rest on his face and his cheek heats up where their skin connects. If this is what a hand can do to him, thoughts unraveling as his eyes begin to feel heavy, then he can only imagine what else is to come. “I am worried that you are unhappy with the physicality of our relationship.”

The burst of surprise on her face indicates this was not the topic she believed he was going to bring up. “Why do you think that?”

“It seems, from the movies and television that we watch, even the books we read, that couples by this point in a relationship are much more intimate.”

Her hand remains on his face and the softening of her features calms his nerves slightly, the slow curling up of her lips a comforting sight. “Vizh.” The drawn out  _ zh _ spreads a heat in his chest that he is unable to quantify. “I am fine with where we are. This is your first relationship, there is no need to push you faster than you are comfortable.”

“But you would be more physical, if I said it was okay?”

“Yeah, I would be, but again,” the fingers of her other hand trace his chest, tapping against his pectoral muscles to emphasize her words, “what do you want?”

Once again he returns to the question of wants. He wants to be with Wanda, wants to see her smile each morning, afternoon, and night. Wants to continue reading books with her and arguing over illogical human motivations. Wants to cuddle on the couch, watching movies that make her laugh, make her cry, make her scream in terror. The experience of emotion via Wanda is intoxicating and he cannot imagine life without her. If only he knew how to express to her his wants. More than anything, at the moment, he wants her to continue tracing his chest, skin tingling underneath her fingertips and perhaps that is the answer he has been seeking. “I believe I want to experiment with a more physical relationship, though slowly. Is that amenable to you?” 

Wanda grins at him, “Of course it is.” Relief pulls his lips into a grin, matching the one growing broader on her face. “So where do you want to start?” 

His shoulders lift and fall, a move he has picked up from watching Sam interact with everyone. “Where do you suggest?”

He watches as she pulls her bottom lip in, biting it with her teeth as she contemplates their next move. Then she removes her hands from his chest and face (an odd feeling of loss following the action) and turns her body, bringing her legs to cross in front of her, so that she is facing him head on. A gentle tap on his knee and a flourish of her hands communicates that he should follow suit and so he mimics her position, knees bending as his legs cross and he can’t help but notice the way their knees touch in this arrangement. “We’ll start simple.” With a shrug and slight shimmy, Wanda works her way out of her sweatshirt, exposing her arms. She pinches at the fabric of his sweater. “I don’t know how your clothes work exactly, can I scrunch these up? I just need your arms to be bare.” 

Vision studies his sweater, realizing that he has never contemplated if his clothing can be removed, given that it is created by shifting his molecules. Instead of testing its abilities, he simply morphs the sweater into a short sleeved polo. “Will this work?”

“Um, yeah, perfect,” her eyes have not left his biceps and Vision senses an odd thrill mixing with embarrassment at the attention. “Okay,” Wanda shakes her head and makes eye contact with him. “I’ll, um, touch you and then you reciprocate?”

Which makes sense, a reciprocal examination of sensation will allow both of them to experiment. Vision begins to sort through the steps, assigning the independent variable as touch and the dependent as, what exactly. Pleasure? How does one operationalize pleasure? “How will we know if it is enjoyable for the other. Do we rate it afterwards?”

Clearly his words have caught her off guard as she freezes with her hand hovering above his arm. “Well,” he watches as her eyes move side to side in thought until she freezes and then stares at him in excitement, “What if we are linked?”

“I am unsure if I follow.” 

“Do you mind?” She brings a finger to his temple and Vision nods his consent. 

The feel of her entering his mind is similar in pattern to waves ebbing and flowing on the beach. Red clouds pulse through his mind and then flow back, but this time it is slightly different, the cloud separating into fingerlike projections, each spreading into the expanse of his mind. Suddenly he feels her hand on his arm, warm and gentle as her fingers wrap around his wrist. Oddly he does not just feel her hand, but also the coolness of the vibranium on her skin and it takes a moment for him to realise what she has done. “You have created a neural relay interface, that is quite impressive.”

She laughs and he can perceive a joyous warmth in his chest that he believes is from her. “Pietro always called it mind voodoo.”  There is little doubt the cool touch of sorrow permeating his limbs is from her and so he turns his hand in order to lace their fingers together, an action rewarded by her fingers tightening around his and a smile. “Anyway, it’s useful for keeping track of injuries but it might be even more useful now. So.” Hands still together, Wanda tugs his arm until it is straight, bringing her other hand up to hover above his arm. “Ready?”

There is a term that Vision has never understood, but now, as her finger remains above his awaiting his answer, he does truly believe that the anticipation could at least damage him mentally for several seconds. “Yes.” The touch is soft, starting at the middle of his wrist and creating a centralized point of heat on his arm. Slowly her finger travels, just barely pressing into his skin as it trails up, dipping into the inside of his elbow, circling along the edge of his sleeve and then returning down to his wrist. It is quite pleasant, his skin retaining the pattern of her finger moving up and down, and he can also sense delight from Wanda, especially whenever her finger transitions from skin to vibranium.  

“So?”

Vision finds that he is having trouble focusing on anything but the feel of her finger on his arm. “It feels quite good.”

With some reluctance he pulls his hand from her grasp, turning her arm over and studying the contrast of the blue veins against her pale skin, his thumb brushes the main junction, surprised when her fingers flex against his hand. “That tickles.” Now he understands that a tickle is a tingling feeling permeating from a central location and spreading into tertiary streams until it dissipates. 

When Wanda was touching him, she made it seem simple and yet now he finds that he is unsure of the exact pressure and speed to use. He starts with a medium amount of pressure, focusing more on the relay of neural activity from her mind than his own, drawing his finger up her arm. But though she smiles at him, he can tell it is not the correct movement. He assesses her response and lifts his finger so that it is hovering more than touching her. On this sweep, motion snaking back and forth so that he can touch as much of her skin as possible, pride swells briefly when he feels her muscles contract and watches as her eyes flutter shut at the pleasurable tickle moving on her skin, smile growing on her face. 

Any fear he harbored about moving forward in their relationship falls away with each journey up and down her arm. Slowly her body curls in, shifting so that she is laying with her head on his chest and he finds his own eyes closing at the serenity of her mind. And for the first time, despite knowing he is awake, he understands the draw of sleep as Wanda drifts into dreams, his hand still moving along her arm. There is a sense of bravery from a successful experiment forming in his mind and he credits it with his decision to kiss the top of her head before settling in for a night on the couch. 

  
  


Much to Vision’s surprise, he discovers that the introduction of touch is not merely for physical pleasure, but somehow he and Wanda develop a language. In the morning when words are sparse, the pressure of her hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, serves to greet him. Fingers ghosting along his shoulder means that she cannot stay and talk but that she wished him to know she passed by. In private, or at least when their teammates are not in the immediate vicinity, a caress of his cheek (his favorite form of communication) conveys that what he has said or done is appreciated. 

In return he contemplates the meaning he wishes to place in his movements, analyzing her physiological responses to confirm the touch is effective. After particularly laborious trainings, he grips her shoulders, hands moving in gentle cycles between her elbow and shoulder. A touch to her lower back lets her know he is not attempting to startle her when phasing in behind her or through a wall. Of course, though this was already in place prior to their new experimentation, his arm around her shoulders is a simple show of comfort and his promised presence in her life. 

  
  
  


A moan escapes Wanda’s lips as she shifts her weight to the side, leaning more heavily into his chest. Each move of his fingers ignites a new spark of sensation, and Vision smirks down at the way her hair is tangled, flowing over his hands. She had attempted to massage his scalp, but, unfortunately they discovered a lack of sensation to his vibranium plates. Yet her neural relay interface has been extraordinarily beneficial in him understanding the appeal. 

Vision lays his palms flat on her head, kneading the back of her skull with his thumbs and the surge of electricity between her nerves leads him to shiver in response. The acute sensitivity is intoxicating, his fingers seeking out new patterns to make, tracking her response (and analyzing it so he can repeat the most enjoyable motions) and the growing heat in his limbs, which he thinks is his own, but contemplates touching her arm to be certain. While moving his fingers in a staggered formation a thought enters his mind, a curiosity centering around the way his lips might feel, an assumption of softness and perhaps a subtle taste of alloy. “Wanda?” 

Abruptly the thought dissipates, replaced by worry before her powers retreat from his mind. “I’m sorry, I, um,” she sits up, turning and backing away from him. 

Vision watches a blush crawl up her neck, branching up until her face is scarlet. It is not until she stands to leave that he realizes his silence has been misinterpreted and he stands with her, grabbing her wrist to stop her exit. “Wanda, my apologies for my silence. I,” the emergence hope in her eyes adds weight to his next words, “would be amenable.” 

“Oh,” reaching out he pushes her hair out of her eyes, brushing it up and behind her ears, palm remaining against her face. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.” The movies they have watched make the situation seem effortless and natural, and yet Vision finds that he is unsure what the next step is. Clearly, lips are supposed to touch at some point, but where does his hand go and what angle is best for approaching, do they stand, should they sit, he thinks there should be candles and music, right?. A hand touching his face disrupts his reverie, the cold metal of her rings cutting the warm trails left behind by her fingers moving from his cheek to the back of his neck. All it takes is a tug and he bends down, free arm wrapping around her waist as he pulls her closer until their lips meet. 

Her lips are smooth and warm, a taste of citrus left over from the tea he made her earlier. And then she pulls away, shy smirk gracing the curves of her mouth and he determines that not enough data was collected.  So he pulls her back, arm tightening around her waist at the way she opens her mouth ever so slightly against his, a surprised breath crossing between them, as she coaxes his own lips to move with hers. It is strange and yet exhilarating, chaste and yet enticing, and he finds himself fascinated by the sheer number of variables that could be introduced to change the act. For instance, tilting his head only 2 degrees to the left changes the pressure and pattern of movement between them and elicits a pleasant sigh. 

Reluctantly she pulls away, eyes glossy yet brimming with excitement. “Do you want…” words trail off into oblivion as she motions between their heads, intentions clear and highly desirable. 

A “Yes” exits his mouth as a shallow breath, vocal cords failing him as he stares into her doe-like eyes, gaze gradually pulling down until he focuses on her tempting lips, barely noticing when she enters his mind until she eagerly kisses him again.  A heady rush envelopes his senses, unsure the origin of the torrid tempest churning in his chest as she presses her body into his, and he can feel the edge of her dress against his legs and the softness of his sweater beneath her fingers.  Drawing inspiration from earlier, Vision reaches his hand up, stroking his fingers through her hair and  his reward is her hands gripping his shoulder, pushing him until the back of his knees hit the couch. 

Vision sits, watching in wonder at the dilation of pupils and the racing of her heart, its beat matching his own in perfect rhythm. Logically the prediction is that she is going to sit on his lap, his hands preparing to wrap around her waist to hold in her in place, but then she freezes, hand resting on his shoulder. “Are we moving too fast?” 

“I am unsure if the logical or illogical answer is appropriate here.”

A sad smile meets his words as confusion wraps itself snugly around his thoughts, mirroring the indecision he can feel from her own mind. “Vizh, you just had your first kiss, I don’t want to pressure you into this, no matter how,” her breath quivers between words when he touches her arm in concern, “awesome it is.”  Perhaps she is correct, cool rationality replacing the fire that her lips stoked. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure.” He watches as she searches for the remote, eyes drawn to the curve of her hips and the skin exposed by the rips in her tights. The sound of plastic hitting the floor pulls him out of his observations and he finds himself overcome with embarrassment and a feeling of flushed cheeks. He forgot that she was still linked to his mind and she stares at him, face engulfed in pink. “My apologies, Wanda. I do not know what came over me.”

Joining the embarrassment circling his mind is a new emotion, one that he has only felt once before after a very impressive performance on a mission. It's only when he sees the smirk on Wanda’s face that he understands the pride emanating from her, and his gaze is drawn down at how her sashay towards him sends her dress swaying. “You know what that’s called, right?” He plans to respond until his words are choked by the trailing of fingers along his neck, that smoothly transition to his chest, poking teasingly at his vibranium. “Lust, my friend.” As if her point had not already be proven, she captures his lips in a slow, lingering kiss before nestling into his side. “Can I have your arm?” 

There is an unsettling certainty in the knowledge that he would do just about anything she asked of him in this moment. So he places his arm in front of her, interested in the outcome. She raises it up, one hand wrapped around his wrist and the other near his elbow. Delicately Wanda lowers her mouth to his skin, placing purposeful, light kisses from his wrist to his elbow. It turns out she was correct before, a cool metallic taste permeating his mouth and yet, thankfully she seems unbothered (even perhaps enticed) by it. 

“So,” each word is punctuated by the warmth of her mouth on his skin, “what do you want to watch?”

It is well founded that losing one sense heightens the others, but Vision is uncertain if the opposite phenomenon is true. Yet he finds that each languid kiss sends a spike in his tactile processing and in turn decimates the language processing system, as he cannot comprehend how to speak with the feeling of her against his skin intermixed with the engulfing heat he can sense in her body. “I do not much care,” when her lips land on a seam between his vibranium and skin he finds his arm pulling away, unable to handle the spark of sensation. “Anything will do.” 

“Okay,” a wave of her hand and a spout of red leads to some nondescript noise filling the room. Wanda sits up, eyes glassy and a sly smirk on her face that causes him to swallow. “You liked that.” All he can do is nod as she nudges his arm up and kisses the area again, eliciting the same reflexive pull of his arm and an unexpected laugh from his mouth. “Is,” her breath seems to be growing heavy as the words come out slowly and with less force than usual, “it,” one more kiss on the same spot and she shivers along with him, “too much?” 

“No, but perhaps not every time.” Which may or may not be the truth because Vision is uncertain if he ever wants her to stop. 

  
  
  
  


As with touching, Vision learns there are different types of kisses, some like their first, others matching the passion of the third (if it all counts as one, he is unsure), but a kiss to the cheek conveys a different meaning then one to the hand, or to the lips.  Wanda now greets him in the morning with a hand to the back and a peck on the cheek, which he returns by turning his head to kiss  her fully. No matter how many mornings they start like this, her laughter against his mouth sets a pleasant precedent for the day. Though they had been keeping their relationship quiet, not necessarily secret but unwilling to flaunt it for fear of reprisal, their teammates have begun to notice, some (namely Rhodes) going out of their way to comment on their affection. 

Today they are on a mission, an errant scientific experiment was set loose in New York City,  a towering beast with matted fur and sharp claws. Wanda has it encased in red, holding it still while the rest of them work to bring it down. Vision approaches the beast, wavering halfway between solid and incorporeal while preparing a charge from the Mind Stone. Shouting begins from behind but the auditory processing takes too long and he is swiped into a brick wall before the warning reaches him. 

Pain erupts in his back, an unpleasant sensation which simply means he did not shift his density quick enough, but he will recover. Red tendrils wrap around him, lifting him into a seated position while worried hands fret along his chest. “Vizh, you okay?”

Though he recognizes the irrationality of her response, her worry does brighten his mood. “I am now.” An amused smirk and playful eye roll pulls him in, kissing her to confirm that he is fine. 

“Would you two stop doing that! I can’t hold this by myself.” Steve is holding his shield up, blocking the frenzied movements of the claws. 

Wanda sighs, patting his chest, “Come on, we always have tomorrow.” 

On the way back, after subduing the beast, Vision cannot help but notice the stares on the quinjet, and the way their teammates keep whispering with half-hidden gestures in their direction while passing a tablet back and forth. Natasha makes eyes contact with him, waving before making a comment to Rhodes. Curious, Vision briefly sifts through the news from the day, immediately finding the source of the whispering with a photo of him and Wanda attached to headlines such as  _ Robosexual? Not in Our City _ ,  _ American Family Association Calls for Boycott of Avengers. _

Once they land, Vision phases through the compound until he reaches his room, hovering in front of the Monet replica on his wall. Somehow in the past months he had come to overlook the difference between himself and Wanda, but now it pesters at him, a specter poking fingers into his synthetic, unnatural flesh. 

The knock at his door is not surprising, but he remains silent. A second knock reverberates, more impatient than the last one. “Vision, I know you’re in there.”  He is torn between brooding, phasing down into the workout room, or answering the door. “Vizh, please?” 

Against his logical assessment of the situation, he moves to the door, raising a hand to the lock pad until the door swishes open, revealing the concerned eyes of Wanda. “Come in.”

Wanda walks in, hand briefly touching his back before she moves to sit on his immaculate and unused bed. “Want to talk about it?”

He contemplates staying silent, not wanting to hurt her feelings or, more realistically, angering her with his thoughts. “I do not think people approve of our relationship.”

“Of course they do, Sam high-fived me when we got back into the fight.”

“I,” he did not observe such behavior, “noticed them staring at us and whispering on the flight back. There are also numerous negative news stories. Wanda perhaps this is a mistake, you deserve much more than-” lips press against his mouth, shutting him up with stunning efficiency. 

Wanda smiles, gripping his hand as she talks, “Listen, even if they are talking about us, who cares? Seriously.” When he seems unconvinced she squeezes his hand and continues. “Plus, last I checked only two people are worthy enough to rule Asgard, which might actually mean I don’t deserve you.”  The pressure of her head on his shoulder causes the instinctual movement of his arm around her, and his resolve to brood fades slowly. 

“Are you not at all concerned that I am not human?”

The euphonious lilt of her laugh confuses him, even more when she stands in front of him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Vizh, you’re human, no one can convince me otherwise. You’re also,” now she moves her hands to his chest, fingers running along the metal clasp of his cape, “honestly the sexiest person I’ve ever seen. So good luck getting rid of me.” Vision finds himself entranced by the movement of her hands, drawn in by the easy pattern she makes of up, right, down, left, up, right. Then the pattern breaks, startling him when he feels her lifting his face until they are making eye contact. “Are you convinced yet?”

“Close.”

The revolution of her eyes brings a miniscule smile to his face. “Well I have one more argument.” To his surprise she takes off her uniform jacket. Even more shocking is when she unties her corset, tossing it on the floor with the jacket, leaving her in a simple black tank top. Vision finds himself torn between stating this might be too fast and wanting to see exactly what she has planned. “Don’t look so terrified,” the teasing words fall on his auditory receptors “just figured I could go without the bulletproof clothing right now. You could lose the cape, if you want.” And it de-materializes immediately, the clasps replaced with her hands pressing into his chest as she climbs, without hesitation, onto his lap, lips hungrily moving against his, and it takes roughly .33 seconds until his arms wrap around her, pulling her close. “Convinced now?”

It is truly amazing how quickly she can dissolve his concerns, brushing them from his shoulders with each swipe of her hand. “I am. Thank you.” He grabs her hand, tenderly kissing her arm, noting the tiny dots surfacing on her skin and the sound of a stifled giggle. Encouraged by her reaction, Vision moves up further, hand pushing her hair back as he grazes his lips along her neck. A sharp intake of breath and urgent hands bring his face up, minds connecting at the same time she seizes his mouth, the force of the action tipping them backwards onto the mattress and Vision believes it might be the first time anyone has laid on the bed. 

Wanda hovers above him, elbow resting on his chest as she traces the lines of his face, casually working until her finger glances along the curves of his lips. He is in awe of the self-assuredness in her movements, the ease with which she conveys her affection, and the effect it has on him is unutterable, his body responding to each caress and the fervid rhythm of her mouth on his. This confidence permeates his limbs, as he reduces his density enough for her to fall through him, a peal of laughter (followed by a “that’s useful”) as he reforms above her, pinning her arms up above her head while idly placing kisses along the edge of her jaw and the hollow of her neck.  An arch in her back brings their bodies in full contact, her arms encircling him so that she brings him back down, the weight of his body exhilarating in her mind and encouraging him to add just a touch more density. Eventually they part, Vision feeling an unnecessary heaving in his chest as he listens to the steady intake and output of Wanda’s breath, there is an irresistible need to smooth her tousled hair. As the strands cascade over his skin, Vision grins, pulling her close, “You were quite convincing by the way.”

“Excellent, so,” the texture of his uniform pricks his fingertips as she traces the maroon lines, “how many variables did you identify?”

“Roughly twenty five, though it all went a bit fuzzy towards the end.”

Her chuckle vibrates against his chest, “not bad, which one are we going to focus on first.”

“Well,” Vision rolls onto his side, attempting (likely unsuccessfully if her growing smile is an indication) to hide his thoughts, “the way your body responded when I did this,” gingerly he sucks at the curve of where her neck and shoulder meet, a shudder passing through her body, “is fascinating so perhaps there.” 

“Sounds,um really good.” And he discovers quite quickly that the application of the tip of his tongue to her skin leads to an intense neural response that makes all other variables seem insignificant.

  
  
  
  


Vision is three quarters through his list, hands steady as he prepares microscope slides of cross sectional tissue specimens. “So,” somehow she always sneaks up on him, “how is everything going with Wanda?”  

“Everything is going quite well.”

Dr. Cho grins at him, a satisfied nod to her head as she sorts through the slides he has made. “I'm glad.” 

She returns to her station, the clicking of computer keys the only sound in the lab besides the quiet scratch of pliers against glass. Every so often Vision notices movement and glances up to find a pointed stare leveled at him and then Dr. Cho turns back to the screen. “I believe it may be time-”

Before his words are out Dr. Cho is at his side, hand resting on his elbow with a reassuring wink. “I was waiting for you to ask. Would you prefer we just talk or I have prepared a presentation specifically concerning the properties of your synthetic compound.”

Vision, again wishes he could blush if only to have an avenue for the embarrassment burning beneath his cheeks. “The presentation sounds intriguing. Will questions be allowed?”

“Oh yes, of course.” She pats his arm one last time before dimming the lights and closing the blinds to the lab. “Ready?”

“I believe so.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not going to lie, this was super difficult to write and I am not real confident that it was done well (do you know how few non-gross synonyms exist for kissing and lips??). There is, as can be guessed by the end of it, a plan to take this into smuttier territory in a second chapter but I am not certain if I am doing that. Feel free to convince me that's the right step, or I can just leave it at this story. Comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed!
> 
>  
> 
> I'll be back in 1.5-2 weeks, finally get to visit my family for the first time since moving 15 hours away. Enjoy the holidays everyone!


	2. An Experiment in Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Vision move their experiments into more intimate territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...you asked and here it is. This is my first time ever in my life writing smut, so, hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Anya - again, attempted to get in at least 3 (I think) suggestions!

The lights flick on in the lab and Vision squints at the increased lumens assaulting his visual cortex, but his mind disregards the light, instead rotating and organizing the vast amount of information presented to him in the last hour. “Alright,” Dr. Cho’s voice cuts across his thoughts and he glances up at her, noting the disconnect between her seeming calmness and his uncharacteristically erratic thoughts. “Summarize what you just learned.”

“Is that necessary? We have tested my memory recall multiple times and found it to be nigh perfect.”

Dr. Cho leans back against one of the lab tables, arms gently crossed in front of her as she raises an eyebrow at his question. “Vision, I make all my students summarize information in their own words. Research suggests it is the most efficient and accurate way to gauge comprehension. Just a quick summary, a few words per topic, you don’t need to give me the entire talk back.”

A sigh flies from his lips before he can stop it, embarassment intermingling with the nervousness that has permeated his limbs the entire presentation. “Consent is vital, talk about everything, respect each other, do not forget foreplay, experiment without shame, and protection is for more than pregnancy.”

“You’re forgetting one.”

“Oh,” his fingers tap against the table while he continues to avert his gaze until he remembers her last point, “remember to have fun.”

“Good, and if you ever have more questions, please don’t be afraid to ask.” 

Vision stands up and smiles at her, “Thank you for the informative talk.” With one last nod he leaves the room, phasing through the walls of the compound as his thoughts continue to compartmentalize until he finds himself in the kitchen, hands automatically opening a cabinet to grab a mug. Without thinking, his arm reaches out to grip the handle of the tea kettle whistling on the stove and he pours the boiling water into the mug, inserting a tea bag to allow it to steep. It is not until the steam hits his face that he realizes where he is, frown pulling his mouth downward as he attempts to remember when he got to the kitchen. But, he begins the process of induction, if he is filling a mug with freshly boiled water it must mean that Wanda is nearby. His head lifts as his eyes move towards the common room and his frown dissipates, reforming into a soft upturn of his lips when he sees her near the television. Mug in hand he walks over, phasing through the couch until he is sitting next to her. “Good afternoon Wanda.” 

“Hey Vizh.” 

When she doesn’t look at him, as she usually does when he sits down, Vision follows her gaze to the television where he notes she is playing Mario Cart, a game that Sam and Rhodes typically yell over. “Are you joining the competition tomorrow?” 

“Um, doubtful,” he watches as her body shifts with each turn of the track, “I can’t seem to win, even on 50CC. I have three more races in this tournament and then we can do something.”

Vision settles into the couch, one leg crossing the other while he places his hand on her thigh, lightly squeezing it in encouragement as she gets hit by a red shell. “You can play as long as you want.” 

After crossing the finish line, she leans into his shoulder, chin lifting towards him as she grins to indicate it is safe to kiss her in the brief moment between races, which he takes full advantage of, body turning slightly to deepen the kiss until the countdown starts on the television. “So,” her car takes off, “what did you and Helen do today?”

Though it is a question she asks him every time he works in the lab, he realizes now that he had hoped she would not inquire, his sympathetic nervous system activating as uneasiness spreads into his fingers and toes. “I constructed slides for examination,” which he contemplates stopping at just that task, but concealing the rest of his time with Dr. Cho would be antagonistic to the openness of communication he and Wanda have always enjoyed. “And then we discussed sex.”

Wanda’s car careens over the edge of the track, requiring an odd creature in a cloud to lift her back out as an ice cube. Instead of continuing the race she pauses it, red wrapping around the controller as it lands on the table at the same time that she turns towards him, a contemplative look on her face, wavering in intensity as she stares at him. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yes, Dr. Cho offered to speak with me about it several months ago and I determined it seemed an appropriate time to bring it up.”

Her voice is quiet when she responds, “So does that mean,” the words fall off, an unseen waterfall taking the sound away as she hesitates in finishing her thought, instead fingers lifting to point first at him and then at her, the question clear from the gesture.

“Truthfully I am not ready for that yet, but she had been quite excited to speak with me about it, so I did not wish to make her wait for too long.”

Wanda’s mouth solidifies into a smile, soft and relieved as she brings a hand to his cheek, thumb brushing his skin. “I’m not ready either. Though since you brought it up I have always wondered, the smoke was pretty thick when you came out of the cradle...”

A laugh shakes his chest, the sound greeted by her own laughter as he wraps an arm around her, well aware of the question as she inquires about it every time the team imbibes copious amounts of alcohol. “I have answered this before.”

“You say that and yet I can never remember you actually answering.” 

“Does it matter?”

Wanda shrugs, rising up onto her knees, face level with his as she leans into him, “Not at all, just curious.”

And with a purposefully slow motion she kisses him, hand resting on his jaw, lips barely moving and yet the constant, gentle pressure of her body against his excites him. If Vision had to choose, this is his favorite type of kiss, especially when the sensation of her lips parting to change the pressure and angle of their connection crawls across his shoulders and down his chest, dissolving into tingles where their bodies touch. Eventually she pulls away, thumb glancing across his lips, only increasing his desire to bring her back. “Fine,” the grin of victory on her face leads to starbursts under his skin, the beauty of her joy overwhelming him, “I have a fully functioning body.” Her response comes in the form of another embrace, leisurely and tender as she leans back, pulling him down to lay on top of her.  “What about your game?”

A wave of her hand and the tv shuts off, game lost in limbo, “I was going to lose anyway, plus,” an unhurried meeting of their lips cuts her sentence in two, “this is much more enjoyable.” 

  
  
  


The addition of the next independent variable to their relationship is not by conversation (which Vision afterwards feels supremely guilty about) but due to a moment of brazen action. 

The lights of Wanda’s room are off, the only illumination coming from the movie quietly playing on her television, long forgotten as Wanda straddles his lap, arms wrapped firmly around his neck, pushing his body further into the pillows carefully stacked against the headboard. Each journey of his hands along her sides elicits an intake of breath and a jolt of sensation in his own body, their minds linked and his senses inundated enough that he is unable to differentiate her response from his own. As his right hand migrates down again, his fingers brush against the edge of her shirt, which has lifted slightly, revealing a patch of skin above her leggings. Without thinking, Vision allows his hand to travel down, molding to the curve of her bare side as he lifts his arm, continuing to follow her skin up (awestruck at the feeling of tiny hairs standing on edge)  until he feels lace. Absentmindedly, thoughts far more focused on the waves of pleasure emanating from their connection and pulsating in time with the rhythm of their lips, his fingers trace the edge of the lace, doing it again after a soft moan passes from her throat to his. 

Wanda kisses him one more time before pulling back and touching his chest, his attention arrested by the the action and the mischievous slant of her mouth. “So that’s on the table now?”

It is only after her words, and the wave of excitement crashing into him from her mind, that he realizes where his hand has traveled, immediately pulling it away. “My apolog--”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Her hand stops him from moving much further, pushing it encouragingly until it lays on her back again, an unusual mixture of annoyance and desire warring over her features. “I’m okay with this if you are. Are you?” 

As with every other venture into their intimacy, it is not simply a question of if he is okay touching her (which he most assuredly is) but also if the reciprocation of the touch is desirable. Simply the thought of her hand on his side, the anticipation of the prickle of desire at the juncture of where their skin meets is more than enough to convince him. “Yes, I am.”

The wicked smile on her face precedes the urgent pawing of her hands at the bottom of his sweater, eagerness morphing into a pinpoint of despair in her mind at her inability to budge the fabric of his clothes. “So, how do we do this?”

“I can either phase out of it or make it incorporeal, so that your hand goes through it?” 

Vision watches as she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, teeth grazing against the slightly swollen skin and he feels his eyes closing, wishing that her teeth were on his lips instead of feeling them through the secondary channel of neural relay. When his eyes open he startles at how close her face is to his. “The second one please.” And her hand is at the ready, touching his skin the instant his clothes lose their full density. Almost at the same moment, he feels her teeth lightly pulling at his bottom lip, and the combination of the two variables produces a spike in his mind, the somatosensory cortex overwhelmed in such a way that he might venture to describe it as a feeling of melting, his muscles loosening as she pulls him closer.  

This time he purposely lifts her shirt, beginning with just the pads of his fingers, grazing against her skin in semicircular patterns as he moves up her spine. Once he reaches her upper back, spreading his hand to cover as much of possible, he then scrunches his fingers to create a trail that ends in a single point, the intensity of her sensory response freezes both his hand and her own. The only movement is a sigh that originates with Wanda but echoes in his chest. A fleeting thought crosses his mind, a realization that they have introduced far too many variables at one time to truly determine causation. Is it simply the application of his fingers along her upper back that resulted in the shuddering cessation of their movement or was it a combination of that, the tango of their tongues, and her nails tracing the seams of vibranium? But when she recaptures his lips, the tip of her tongue eagerly touching his own, her hand kneading his skin, science be damned, he reintroduces the final variable, hands continuing to move along her upper back. 

  
  


Despite the initial unsystematic introduction of the newest level of touch, they find quiet moments to experiment properly. A double tap to his back or abdomen becomes a signal that Wanda wishes his clothing to shift density, and he slowly becomes accustomed to the seeming impropriety required to touch beneath her shirt. Yet it adds to their unspoken communication and closeness, like whenever they read on the couch, they take turns who is leaning against the other. Right now it is his turn, Wanda sitting with her legs crossed and book in her right hand, while he stretches out his body along the cushions, feet raised up on the armrest, head casually resting on her chest (a position that took much encouragement from Wanda). Luckily he is roughly a hundred and fifty pages ahead of her, because the book hangs forgotten in his hand as he lays with his eyes closed, relishing the comforting pattern of her fingers following an s-shaped trajectory on his chest, every so often focusing exclusively on the extra sensitive areas where skin meets vibranium. 

“Are you falling asleep on me?”

Words fail to form in his head, instead a mumbled “No” coming out of his lips as something closer to “mmmmnnmm.” 

Her body shifts beneath him as she leans down, brushing her lips against his forehead and though he cannot see it, he can feel his lips lifting in time with the grin on her face. “Well don’t forget that we have training in twenty minutes, so don’t get too comfortable.” Even though the words should bring doom to his mind, the playfulness of the tone and the continued sweeps of her fingers salve his displeasure at the notion of training. “So you get about ten more minutes and then I need to change.” 

“Fine.” The scrunching of her cheeks in enjoyment creates a pulling sensation in his face and he continues to enjoy their time for a bit longer.

Forty minutes later Vision has completely forgotten the peacefulness of before, wincing as Wanda is thrown to the ground for the tenth time during her hand-to-hand session with Natasha. Today is a depowered day, which really only hurts Wanda, as Vision does not need his powers to spar and everyone else lacks powers that can conceivably be shut off. Wanda stands up, body shaking from the physical exertion, and he finds that his resolve to sit back and allow this to happen weakens with each punch Natasha lands. Which is a new, slightly uncomfortable feeling.  He understands the need for such training but the longer he watches the unfair fight, cataloging the subtle change in color to parts of Wanda’s skin that indicates bruises are forming, the stronger his desire to intervene. Yet he knows, logically and emotionally, that Wanda would not approve of such intervention and so he leans against the wall, waiting until Steve yells “Stop” to float over to her. 

“Would you like help getting up?” Many missteps in his assumption of her vulnerability early on has made him carefully choose the way in which he offers help in these situations. And so he simply holds his hand out as an option, but keeps it off to the side so that there is no implication that he thinks Wanda cannot stand on her own. Haltingly, and a cringe puckering the skin around her eyes and lips, Wanda grips his hand, requiring more help than usual to get back on her feet. 

“Thanks, Vizh.” 

“Maximoff.” Steve approaches them, eyes glancing at the arm Vision has around her waist before he looks Wanda in the eyes. “You can have the rest of the day off. Vision, you’re up next.”

A bit begrudgingly Vision lets go of Wanda, watching as she smiles weakly at him before limping out of the door.  His sparring goes fine, deflecting the majority of Natasha’s advances while managing several good punches himself, but he finds his attention diverted, concern over Wanda’s well-being clouding his ability to fully commit to the match. Which is how Natasha lands a kick squarely to his chest, knocking him to the ground. Suddenly the entire room goes silent, Sam and Rhodes looking at him, mouths agape in surprise. Natasha’s frowning face blocks the light as she leans over him. “Keep your head in the game, Vision. You’re way too distracted.” An involuntary squint overtakes his eyes when she steps back, the fluorescent lights of the gym blinding him momentarily. “Now get up.” So they continue for another thirty minutes, and he has to force his mind to be clear of worry and distraction until Natasha releases him. Once they are finished he waits to determine if he too is allowed to leave, the answer comes in a somewhat ambiguous nod of Steve’s head towards the door that he believes means that his portion of training is complete.  

First he travels to the kitchen, carefully adding the necessary ingredients to a pot on the stove to craft a traditional Sokovian tea, peeling an orange and steeping the peel in the boiling water. Untraditionally, he adds in a splash of milk and a teaspoon of sugar, grabbing a banana and some crackers before gliding down the hallway towards Wanda’s room. For a brief moment he considers knocking, but decides it would be best to simply phase through the wall, just in case she is asleep.  Once inside, he places the tea and food on her nightstand, attempting to be as quiet as possible as he glances down at the pajama-clad body sprawled face first on the bed. Vision grabs the blanket from her chair and covers her before he leaves the room, though a voice stops him as he is halfway through the wall. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I thought you were sleeping.”

Without lifting her face from the bed, or moving any of her body, she responds, “You thought wrong. How’d yours go?” 

Vision returns to the bed, sitting next to her and bringing his hand to rub her back. “Fine, though Natasha knocked me to the ground one time.”

“Nooo,” which he cannot tell if she is being sarcastic with her disbelief or if her tiredness has removed the affective component of her tone. “She didn’t harm your beautiful ass, did she?” And the answer is most definitely sarcasm. 

“I do believe it is unscathed.” A relieved “phew” is muffled by the pillow, causing a broad smile to crawl across his face. “How are you feeling?” The only answer is a groan. “Would you like a massage?” This time she reaches out her arm just enough to give him a thumbs up. 

Vision repositions himself on the bed, allocating his weight so that he can comfortably use both hands without putting undue pressure on Wanda’s body. He places his palms lightly on her lower back, beneath her shirt, and in a smooth motion brings both up along either side of the her spine until he reaches her shoulders. Though he attempts to stay focused, he immediately realizes that there is a slight difference this time as compared to every other experience he has had, namely the lack of the usual fabric of her bra. Vision chooses to ignore this, forcing his mind to only be concerned with the pressure and motions he has found to cause the quickest decrease in her cortisol levels and the greatest increase in dopamine and serotonin. Systematically he cycles from her shoulders, down her sides, across her lower back, and then drags his knuckles along her spine, restarting the process. 

“Vizh?”

His hands continue to move as he divides his attention, “Yes, Wanda?”

“If you want,” her voice wavers, “you can take my shirt off, if it’s easier for you.” 

Oh. His fingers stop moving as he considers her words, mind racing at the suggestion and then  grinding to a halt as he fully realizes what she is saying. It is not an illogical suggestion. “It would allow freer movement of my hands.”  Wanda begins to sit up, but he places a hand on her back to stop her. “I can remove it, you stay still.” In all honesty he is unsure if his brain could continue to function if he watched her take her shirt off, and so he grips the fabric, assessing the density of the shirt before shifting it so that it simply goes through her when he lifts it.

“Did you just phase my shirt off?”

“I, yes, I did. Is that acceptable?”

Though their minds are not linked he knows without a doubt that she is smiling. “Oh most definitely.”  And now he finds himself staring at her bare back, admiring the way her pale skin curves along the edges and dips beneath her shoulder blades and at the small of her back. Reverently he touches her skin, palms flat against her lower back as his thumbs rub small circles. Eventually he resumes the previous pattern, adding in a sweep along her arms, now that they are available, and he is met with the pleasing sound of her sighs whenever his fingers trace her sides. As he continues the movements, mesmerized at the way her skin wrinkles when he slides his palms up, a desire blooms in his chest, yet he finds himself unable to verbalize his request and so he touches her temple, indicating he’d like to commence their neural relay interface. The moment she enters his mind he sends his question to her. “God yes, Vizh, that’s perfectly fine.”  

How she always makes him nervous, even after all this time, is confounding, but he finds himself shaking slightly as he repositions himself again, bending down until he places his lips on her shoulder. There is a subtle salty taste, the remnants of sweat from the training and a surprising coolness. Gradually he places kisses along her upper back, the shockwaves of pleasure from her receptors engulfing his mind, emboldening him to continue trailing his lips long her spine, stopping briefly to let her shiver and laugh at the sensation. As he moves to her sides, taking his time to linger, each kiss exactly three seconds, he grins into her skin when his name falls as a whisper from her lips. “Yes, Wanda?” Suddenly, surprisingly, and oddly terrifyingly, she shifts beneath him, turning her body to the side in a sure sign that she is about to face him. “Wanda?”

“Is it okay if I turn over?”  

“Sure.”

Though he was nervous before, the electric feeling pulsing through his veins crescendos as she turns over, sitting up to face him, demure lift to her lips that may be just as engrossing as the beauty of her body in front of him. “Can I try something?”

Vision meets her eyes, attempting to draw from her mind her next move but he finds his own thoughts so clouded that he cannot break through her thinly veiled intentions. “Anything.” 

An air of shyness surrounds her as she reaches a hand out, brushing her fingers along his cheek before she brings her finger to touch the Mindstone. A warmth radiates in his forehead, firmly beneath the stone and spreading as rivulets across his scalp and down his face. Then there is a chill on his chest, replaced quickly by the pressure of her other hand against his skin. “That worked well.” Only now does he glance down, finding the top part of his uniform gone and chest bare. Before he can respond, Wanda leans forward, lips curving around his clavicle, and it is almost too much for him to process, thoughts fleeing, replaced by a rush of a pleasure as she continues, mouth moving along the line of exposed skin between the plates vibranium on his chest. “Is this too much?” 

“I don’t know.”

Wanda pulls away, stare quizzical as she watches him. “Did you just use a contraction?” 

“I am not sure I follow.”

“Mr. Prim and Proper reduced to using contractions and all it took was to get you half naked.” Wanda smirks as she avoids his confusion, instead pulling him down to lay with her on the bed, each on their side facing the other. With a bounce and a flirtatious shift, she closes the gap between them, pressing her chest into his, the coolness of his vibranium against her breasts a fascinating and arousing sensation. Calmly, which is in stark contrast to his erratically beating heart, she kisses him, hand roaming along his side in a lackadaisical manner. “We can stick to this for now, if you want.” All he can do is nod his head, his own fingers dancing along her skin as they playfully exchange kisses, laughter filling the air once he finally grows confident enough to run his thumb across her nipple. And they spend the evening exploring this newfound territory, any pain from training forgotten and replaced by the warmth of their caresses. 

  
  
  


Vision sits with his head in his hands, an uncharacteristic hunch to his back. A quick glance to the side confirms that he is not alone in this gesture, Steve a stoic Grecian statue of despair. They were responding to a hostage call, reports linking the hostage takers to the weakening Hydra contingency, but what was not revealed in the report was that the mission involved a crowded mall. Though they (being Vision, Steve, and Rhodes) were able to get almost everyone out, an undetected IED went off in the south wing, killing five. Not one of them has spoken a word on the ride back, and only Rhodes is not hanging his head, eyes focused forward though there is no liveliness to them. Once they land Steve walks off, no mention of a debriefing meeting or other recognition of the other two men on the quinjet. Rhodes walks up to Vision, placing a hand on his shoulder before leaving as well and then Vision is alone, head lifting from his hands in order to fall back, quite harshly, into the metal wall behind him. He’s not sure how much time passes before he too leaves the quinjet, toes dragging on the ground as he hovers through the compound, instinctively ending in Wanda’s room. 

It isn’t until there is no “Hey Vizh” or pressure of arms around his waist that he looks around. The bed is unmade, clothes piled on the ground, but there is no sign that Wanda is currently in the room. But then his auditory cortex decodes the noise around him and there is a muffled song coming from behind the bathroom door and the sound of sloshing water. Usually he would wait on the bed, unwilling to disturb her, but at the moment Vision allows his need for human contact, his need for reassurances that there was nothing else that could have been done to control him and so he phases through the bathroom door.

“Hey! You’re back.” The smile on her face and her head comically the only thing he can see as the rest of her is surrounded by bubbles should bring him some relief, yet he cannot even attempt to smile back. “Vizh...what’s wrong?” His response is a shrug, head hanging as he wipes away the remnants of the silent tears he attempted not to shed on the quinjet.  “Hey,” she begins to stand but he holds his hand out to stop her. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not at the moment, but later for sure.” 

Wanda’s eyes grow wide, tears brimming along the edge and he immediately feels guilty, bringing his own pain into her relaxation. “Want to come in?”

“Pardon?” 

“Do you want to join me? Not in a sexual way, mind you, just,” Vision cocks his head to the side, unused to seeing Wanda so uncertain and anxious in her words towards him, even her hands run nervously along the edge of the tub “it might calm you down.”

It is somewhat enticing, at least more so than the other option which is to be consumed in rumination. “I do not wish to ruin your bath.”

Her uncharacteristic anxiety falls away as she rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah, because watching you get naked and joining me in this humongous tub is going to ruin my afternoon.” 

The logic is, arguably, fairly flawless, there really is no conceivable way he could ruin her bath, but if he says no it might do so. Yet, he hesitates, they have spent more time exploring each other’s bodies, but never have they been completely naked, pretty damn close, but not fully. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Steeling his nerves, he begins phasing out of his uniform, an unknown weight lifting from his shoulders when his cape disappears and a miniscule sense of calm fighting against his melancholy. It’s not until he gets to the end of his uniform that he hesitates, glancing up and finding an exuberant and somewhat hungry look on Wanda’s face. “I…”

Wanda leans an elbow on the edge of the bathtub, face cupped in her hand. “Do you want me to close my eyes? Or you can just come in like that, whatever is comfortable for you.”

The fleeting confidence he has reduces his decision making, not sure what he wants to do. But, to be fair, he has seen her naked several times, accidentally, from before he learned how to properly assess if he could phase into her room and so the shame he feels should be less than what he caused her. Which, now that he considers where they ended up, is amusing, that he has only seen her naked when they weren’t dating. And with that thought he phases from the rest of the uniform, timidly approaching the tub, fully aware of the way her eyes move along his body, smile growing wider as she pats the space in front of her. With a quick move he phases into the bathtub, lowering himself into the water, body going along with her hands as she guides him to lay back against her chest, her legs wrapping around his waist as she lays a loving kiss on his brow. Though the tub is quite large (at the insistence of Tony given the size of several Avengers), his knees still peak out of the bubbles, but he finds that he doesn’t care, more concerned with the feeling of her hands running along his chest and arms. 

As promised, despite both of them being naked, there is no expectations other than his relaxation, the gentle flow of tranquility from her mind to his leads to him closing his eyes, enjoying the closeness and the way the water slowly washes away the despair from earlier. With each pass of her hands, Vision considers, with the little mental functioning he allows, how truly fortunate he is to have Wanda. The desire for companionship had been something he longed for from the beginning, a basic understanding of the fulfillment it brought to humans as a species, but never did he believe he would find this, a partner equal parts compassionate, caring, powerful, entertaining, competitive, feisty, and so many more adjectives that he knows he could spend at least a month listing them all, every second of every day.  Another kiss to his temple confirms his thoughts, a word rising unbidden to the front of his mind and he feels her hands stop, breath hitching as his eyes widen. 

“Vizh?”

“Wanda, I did not mean for that to be available to you, this is not how I planned to tell you.”

He attempts to turn, but her hands hold him in place, resuming the swooping pattern as she kisses his neck, “Why is it a bad time?”

The main reason is that they are both naked in a tub and he understands the influence of dopamine and oxytocin on misperceptions of emotions. “I do not wish you to think it is tied to us in this position.”

“Vizh,” he can hear the roll of her eyes in the tone of her voice, the V- the low point and her voice rising in pitch as she she reaches the zh. “Love is for souls, not bodies. Yes the body part is fun, but I would never think your feelings are only because of being naked in a bathtub.” 

Now that the word is out, his mind erupts in confirmation, knowing full well that he cannot deny the way he feels about her and so he attempts to turn again, this time her hands allow him to sit up and slide to the side just enough to make eye contact, hand cupping her cheek, “I love you, Wanda Maximoff.”

“I love you too.” The positioning is awkward, the porcelain walls confining their motions but they still manage a chaste and tender kiss. “Now, turn back around, I’m not done helping you relax.”

And he does what she says, settling back into position, head nestled in the crook of her neck and eyes closing while she traces the lines of his muscles, kisses peppering his scalp as she continues. This, he is sure, is what bliss feels like. 

  
  
  


“Vision!” The companionate way Tony says his name, coupled with the outstretched arms, means that Vision is about to be hugged. In two seconds he feels an arm, clearly a stretch due to his height, wrapping around his shoulder, a fatherly shake to the embrace. “Tell me, why is it that your girlfriend looks so unamused at my parties?”

Vision’s gaze follows the movement of Tony’s finger as he points in the direction of the bar, where Wanda stands, talking with Natasha. Though she is smiling, he, and apparently Tony, can easily tell that she would much rather not be here.  “Well, it could be correlated to us informing you four months ago that we would very much prefer your party not be tonight.”

“Nonsense, nothing is better than this party.” A flourish of his free hand indicates that the decadence of the decorations and food epitomizes a good time, despite the fact that Vision can neither consume alcohol nor food and would honestly rather not be at the party. 

A quick glance at the clock, and a confirmation with his internally set time, requires that he disentangle from Mr. Stark’s company. “Truly nothing better. Enjoy the party.” With a small turn, and some density shifting, he is able to escape, striding across the room until he can place his hand on Wanda’s back. She turns towards him, professionally curled hair bouncing along her shoulders as a real smile replaces her previous faked one. “One moment,” he raises a finger, counting along with the seconds until it is 7:54 and 36.5 seconds, “happy anniversary.”

A grin greets his words. “Happy anniversary, Vizh.” The height of her stilettos (a fashion choice not in line with what Wanda wanted) means that he only has to compensate for five inches in order to kiss her, arm snugly around her waist as he leans into her. 

“Oh come on, get a room you two.” Which comes compliments of Sam and is a sentiment echoed by Rhodes. 

Wanda pulls back, glare leveled at Tony, who is still located across the room, before she addresses the others. “If it weren’t for this stupid party we would have one.”

A frown forms on Rhodes’ face before he downs a glass of champagne, “I didn’t need to know that, you two have already ruined the couch for me, please don’t ruin this party.”

“Cheers to that,” Natasha clinks her glass with the others. “But congrats you two.” And now Wanda raises her own glass in celebration.  

The party continues for another two hours before Pepper deems it appropriate for them to leave, though only Vision and Wanda decide to do so, the others unwilling to pass up the open bar. Once back at the compound, Wanda first sheds her shoes, shrinking four inches in height, and then turns towards Vision, hand lightly pressed into his chest. “Give me like five minutes and then you can come to my room. Deal?”

“Deal.” And so he waits, striving, yet failing, to contain the tension building in his chest, an irritating nervousness that is leading to jittery feet and fidgeting hands. He walks into the kitchen, gripping the counter in an attempt to calm down, refocusing his senses to match the density of his surroundings, his own personal form of meditation.  Once the five minutes are up, he finds that he feels better, though he fears physically walking towards the room, unsure if his feet can hold his weight the entire distance, which also means he takes the shortcut through the walls. Though he stops at her door, contemplating if this is a situation that requires knocking. Better safe than sorry, so he raises a hand to rap a three note beat on the door. 

It takes exactly 1.48 seconds for the door to slide open, the sound of jazz enveloping him and the flicker of candlelight meeting his eyes as he steps into the room. “You know,” Wanda comes up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist while she places a kiss to his back, minds linking seamlessly, “you're like forty five seconds late.”

“My apologies, I am attempting to better understand the concept of fashionably late.”

“You're doing great.” Leisurely she completes a half revolution around him, hands remaining against his body as she pulls them along with her, finally coming to face him, her right hand descending just below his back. The gentle squeeze she gives is enough to crack a smile on his worried lips. 

“Miss Maximoff, are you trying to seduce me?”

A bewitching smirk lifts the right side of her mouth, “Yep. Could you help me with this?” The feeling of her body brushing against his as she turns around almost causes him to forget his density, but he catches himself in time, instead focusing on the way she has lifted her hair up to allow him access to the zipper on her gown. He grips the tab, pulling it slowly down until it stops. Delicately he runs his hands up along the skin exposed by the undone zipper, fingers roaming teasingly until they reach the sleeves where they hook under the fabric, gingerly pushing it until the dress slides down her arms. Vision leans down to kiss her shoulder, arms encircling her body to increase the surface area of contact between them, the twist of her shudder as he moves his mouth to the curve of her neck causing a sudden deterioration of his sense of control. His hands push the dress the rest of the way down, briefly watching it as it pools to the floor before turning Wanda (unabashed desire shining in her eyes) and kissing her deeply, overjoyed at the feeling of her hands gripping his tuxedo lapels and pushing him towards the bed, not stopping in her movements until he falls onto the mattress, eyes taking in the contrast of the red lace against her pale skin and forever linking this sight with the smell of vanilla and cherry in room. “You’re a little overdressed, Vizh.”

“You are welcome to help me with that issue.” And the words hover in the air for barely a second when her finger touches the Mindstone, the warmth of her manipulation spreading through his limbs as his tuxedo dissolves away, the clothing unnecessary as Wanda crawls on top of him, lips finding his again, moving in time with the stroking of his neck and shoulders. This, so far, is not new, having experimented with the way her body responds when he touches her back, or fondles her breast, they have even studied the interactions of certain activities, confirming that perhaps a higher level model of weighted variables and pathways of causation may be most suitable. But worry permeates his enjoyment, thoughts careening into a chasm of concern over whether or not he will be enough for Wanda.

“Stop that.” His hands freeze, lips coming to a halt as she pulls away, leaning haphazardly with her hands braced on his chest. “When have I ever not enjoyed our time together?” 

“What about when we utilized the massage oil.” 

A chuckle rocks her body, head shaking at the memory of that fateful night. “There was no way for us to know it would have such a sticky reaction to vibranium. Plus that was the oil’s fault, not yours. Seriously Vizh, please stop worrying and just enjoy it.” Which becomes easier when she presses her hips down, positioned just right to brush him in a way that causes a wave of pleasure through his body. “See.”

Vision runs a hand along her side, stopping when he reaches her chest so that he can phase away her bra. “I will endeavor to do my best.” Prior to this evening, having discussed exactly when they would partake of this activity, Vision reread through the presentation Dr. Cho gave him, with particular focus on not forgetting foreplay. The fire in Wanda’s mind, which threatens to sear his logic away to the barebones of pure instinctual lust, almost consumes him to the point of moving this night too quickly. Instead, he grips her waist, sitting up, arm holding her securely against his chest as he ardently kisses her before turning over, bodies moving as one unit until he lays above her, propped up on an elbow. A whimper escapes her mouth when he breaks contact, but is replaced with a quickening of her breath as he shifts his lips down her jawline, descending along the curve of her neck (his hands running up her arms, pinning them in place lest she distract him too much), and deliberately he places prolonged, reverential kisses along the curves of her side, causing her to squirm when he reaches the ticklish part of her hipbone. Maintaining the disciplined, languid pace he crosses her abdomen and continues back up her other side, this time following the flow of her body until he reaches her wrist, her floral perfume mixing with the scent of the candles.  Though his intention is to continue on his path, the urgency of her mind and the slight thrash of her arms against his grip pulls him back to her mouth, where he is immediately met with the captivating power of her desire as she lifts herself off the bed to press into his body. 

Wanda attempts to turn them back over, demanding control over him but he smirks into her mouth while his fingers walk down her body, toying with the waistband of her underwear. Though he could phase it away, Vision has discovered a unique joy in traditionally removing at least one article of her clothing and so he dips the band down, smiling at the way she shimmies her legs to help get the, apparently offensive, piece of clothing off. As his fingers run back up her legs he centers his concentration on the neural relay interface, eyes closed while he moves with her, calculating the most pleasurable angles, breath hitching along with hers and relishing the way her body bumps against his with each change in the rhythm, a giggle falling on his auditory receptors when he flicks his fingers in a certain way. And he grips her hand with his free one when eventually the crash of her senses descends, riding the spasming waves that leave torrid ripples in their minds. 

“My turn.” And this time he fully allows her to push his shoulder back, scooting several inches so that they return to the center of the bed (having fallen off the edge a week ago when things got too heated), eyes never leaving her face, taking in the flush that starts at the base of her neck and has crawled up to the tips of her cheeks. Vision watches as she crawls to the edge of the bed, grabbing a foil package from the nightstand, which she wraps in red and handles with her powers while she returns her hands to his chest, lips crushing against his, emphasized by the drag of her nails. “You sure you’re ready?” Vision simply nods, hands running between her elbow and shoulders, entranced by the curtain of hair cascading around his face with the last kiss before she straddles him. 

Gently she lowers and he finds his body determining that all other functions unrelated to Wanda are unnecessary, breath stopping and eyes closing, sure that there is no quantifiable way to describe this experience.  A trail of her finger along his stomach reassures him of her own enjoyment. And then she begins to move, a halting rock to her hips that is punctuated by shuddering breaths and an increase in her heart rate. He rests his hands on her hips, finally able to marginally function, and together they set a moderate pace, minds intertwining until one shared experiential unit is created, neither one able to pinpoint the source of the thrill of a slight raise of his hips or a forty degree lean forward of her body, hands gripping his muscles. An urgency begins to bud deep within his (or maybe hers, or perhaps both of them) stomach, a base need for the speed to increase, all knowledge of control lost to the wind that pulls her name from his lips and she doesn’t hesitate in satisfying the need, and all at once he feels his body raise from the bed, hands latching firmly to her sides to hold her in place, and then she falls forward, a half sigh half laugh connecting with his neck as she wipes hair that became trapped by the sweat on her brow. 

“So…” Wanda’s breathing remains erratic, much like the beat of his heart as it kickstarts back into use, his other functions returning as well, and he joins her in the occasional laugh, uncertain why laughter occurs despite nothing being inherently humorous. “How, um,” Vision turns towards her wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a hug while nestling his face in her shoulder, a blanket of curls caressing his cheeks as she attempts to finish her thought, “Variables?”

He responds, face still pressed into her skin. “I lost count, to be honest.” 

A hand pats his head, contented sigh releasing the last of the tension in her body as he feels his head sink with her into the pillows. “But you want to experiment more with this?”

“Most definitely,” so many words swirl through his mind, and he grasps at them, attempting to catch at least a few that form themselves into a sentence that can adequately relay his message. “I believe it could take an entire lifetime to test all of the potential variables and interactions.”

  
Which leads to the joyful cadence of a chuckle on his receptors. “I can’t wait.” Neither can he. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I am going to return to writing shorter, fluffy, less steamy stories for Celestial Bodies for a bit. If I feel like I ever want to continue this story, I am open to the idea, but don't expect anything soon (most likely).
> 
> As always, hope you enjoyed!


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